


Grammy Nom

by FreyaOdin



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Grammy Awards, Humor, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 22:36:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8772082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin/pseuds/FreyaOdin
Summary: So the 2017 Grammy Award Nominations were announced...





	

Mitch is just opening up Twitter, planning to idly scroll his timeline while giving Scott a few more minutes to sleep, however the big, blanketed lump in his bed is already moving. But rather than surfacing as Mitch expects, he’s clearly chosen another destination, settling himself between Mitch’s thighs.

Mitch smiles and widens his legs, enjoying the humid gusts of air flowing over him. His smile quickly turns into an outright grin as his rapidly filling cock is engulfed in a blissfully warm mouth.  Nngh, yes. Good morning, Scotty.

Mitch isn’t really paying attention to his phone anymore, his focus almost entirely on the bobbing sheets and the sucking and the hardening and the fingers tracing up his thighs. But his thumb is still swiping and something catches his eye.

“Oh my God, holy shit!”

“Mmm,” Scott agrees, lapping his tongue around Mitch’s head.

Mitch weaves his right hand under the blankets to latch onto the fingers teasing his hip. “No, this is great. But I mean ‘holy shit Jolene was nominated!’”

The licking stops and the blankets are thrown back, revealing a flushed, sleepy-eyed Scott, his blond hair sticking out in the most disastrous mop Mitch has ever seen. “What?”

Mitch is now googling frantically. “Jolene was fucking nominated for Best Country Duo or Group Performance.”

“Fuck,” Scott says, eloquent as always. He crawls up the bed and settles beside him. “I forgot that was this morning. Show me.”

And there it is, clear as vodka on the white, black and gold official site.

“Oh my God, holy shit!” is Scott’s reaction.

“We’re up for an actual performance.” Not that Mitch begrudges the arrangement Grammys, hell he lives for them, they’re amazing. But to possibly get one for their performance abilities as well is something else entirely.

Scott turns to him, wide-eyed. “We’re up for an actual performance with Dolly-fucking-Parton.”

God, if they win, their names will be forever beside hers in Grammy history.  Well, technically they already will be, but if they win people will actually still look at it in future years.

Mitch flips back to Twitter. “The fandom’s going nuts.”

Scott’s leaning into his shoulder, following along. He chuckles at a few of the more outlandish congratulations, skimming his hand down Mitch’s side. “Wow, we’re probably going to be on the red carpet with Dolly.”

Mitch’s breath hitches. Oh. Oh, fuck.

Scott doesn’t seem to get the implications of what he just said. He’s kissing Mitch’s shoulder like everything’s okay. “Mmm, let me finish you off and then—ˮ

“We might be on the red carpet _with_ Dolly,” Mitch reiterates. This is a disaster. “What the fuck are we going to wear? Scott, there’s only three months to figure out what the fuck we’re going to wear.”

Scott’s wide-eyed look is back. He stares at him for a long moment and then he’s up and out of bed, looking frantically around. “Fuck. I’ll text Candice; you make sure Nicole has that day free. Fuck, where the fuck is my fucking phone?! Oh my _God_.”

Yep. That’s a far more appropriate response.

 

 

**Thoughts?**


End file.
